


Thorns of Evil Flowers

by LilacPrince



Category: Cain Saga and Godchild
Genre: Alexis gets what he DESERVES, Blood and Gore, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Justice for Augusta Hargreaves damnit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:21:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24750751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacPrince/pseuds/LilacPrince
Summary: The overwhelming, sickly sweet smell of flowers is enough to drown out anything. So far Augusta has used it to distract herself from the torment her brother subjects her to, but now she has found a different use for it. Something far more sinister.
Kudos: 4





	Thorns of Evil Flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waltzing_marionettes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltzing_marionettes/gifts).



> You ever find yourself in a rut and decide to push writing away for a moment and then inspiration hits you all of a sudden like a sack of bricks?

The Hargreaves Mansion had always been a place of hauntings. It was removed from the bustling heart of the city just enough that the darkness around it seeped into the guests’ minds, the beckoning uncertainty of the shadows tearing at the edges of their beloved 19th century rationality. Minds that in the daylight, in the safety of town's homes, whiskey and company of the likeminded, dismissed the supernatural as superstition often faltered against the whispers that carried through the dark hallways of the mansion. The polished house, flaunting their perfect upperclass English family, had darkness pulsating through it's veins. It lurked underneath the surface, close enough for the occasional guest to sense it, but not enough to actually feel it. A dark shadow in a hallway, the flickering light of a candle where none should be, the unexplainable traces of music on the nightair, was all it really took for rationality to take flight. It was all it took to take eyes of the true ghosts of the house. Because even the people that bragged about their sensibility and refusal to believe in "pagan heretics" would rather search the shadows for people long dead and buried than investigate the pain in Lady Hargreaves' eyes, or why her daughter never smiled anymore, or why everyone pretended not to notice how the animals were slowly disappearing around the mansion's grounds. People would rather whisper to each other about how the smell of rot came from the attic, or the basement, or inside the walls, than to trace it to it's source, covered in lace, silk, and a good reputation. People rather envied the Hargreaves for their many house ghosts than to take a moment to wonder how many ghosts there actually were in the house.

Perhaps that was the reason why Papa pretended he never saw anything, Augusta thought to herself as she stepped into her room. It was so much easier to ignore it, or blame it on the supernatural. So much easier to find different explanations, the preferable ones, the ones that didn't entail suspecting his own son of immoral behaviour. Alexis' evil had flowered in their father's ignorance, watered by his refusal to see it, fueled by the knowledge that as long as he covered his tracks adequately their father would turn his eyes away. A bad smell that stuck to the house, that clung to the walls, but was ignored by the house's master. To be fair, Augusta had tried to ignore it as well. Had tried to turn her eyes away, had tried to explain it away, had collected good smells to distract her from the bad one in vain hope that it would go away on it's own. But Augusta had only been a child, had only imitated her parents like an actor imitates a king, without ever holding the same power. Augusta had never been able to do anything about the bad smell of rot, while her father had been. That he chose to turn his eyes away was a different choice than Augusta drowning herself in the smell of roses and vanilla to forget the rot.

Over the years her collection had become as big as Alexis' collection of poisons, torture devices and weapons. Bottles of dried flowers, roses, dahlias, and lilacs lined her shelves and windowsills, decorated with small ribbons and warmed by the sun's rays, like Alexis' poisons lined the shelves in the old forgotten rooms, tucked away from the light of day. Small samples of vanilla, old candy, and tea leaves were as carefully organized as the different torture devices hidden here and there in the house, always there when Alexis needed it, and undisturbed by maids or prying eyes. Incense that reminded her of Lady Toko lingered in the air, ingrained in the fabrics of her room like the lingering smell of blood and rot that clinged to Alexis when he came back from his visits in town or from the deepest parts of the basement. Augusta had done her best to escape the terrible darkness that pushed down over her, to carve out enough space for herself to breathe, but the more she struggled the deeper Alexis' claws sunk into her. His thorns pricked her skin, drawing blood, digging into her wounds, but all that everyone saw was the perfect flowers that they wanted to see, never as much as lowering their eyes enough to notice the thorns that belonged to their beloved flower. Never caring about how much the thorns hurt Augusta as long as they could continue to praise their perfect Alexis.

But there was only so much vanilla, perfume and roses could do against the ever growing smell of rot when the corpse's arms closed harder and harder around her, and despite her efforts it slowly started infecting her as well. The darkness grew in her, bleeding into her through the wounds her brother infected as she tried to bury her nose in incense and tea. It mixed with her blood, taking root in her bones, poisoning her heart. It was ever so slowly driving her mad, sickened by herself and the poison that had invaded her. It crawled in her, pushing her into burying her nails in her skin and tearing in an attempt to get it out. It made her vomit, it clouded her eyes, and it slowed her heartbeat down until she was certain it wasn't beating anymore. The sweet smells she had collected couldn't overpower the rot that lived inside her, the rot he had infected her with.

But Alexis had forgotten something, a very crucial detail. Alexis hadn't been the only one raised by their father, and he wasn't the only one who knew exactly how much it was possible to get away with, how to turn their father's eyes away. He wasn’t the only one capable of terrible deeds when infused with poison, selfgrown or inflicted. And, most importantly, he wasn't the only one who knew where the torture devices were hidden, littered around the house.

Augusta inhaled the sweet smells around her. Every bottle was opened, the incense was burning, lavish bouquets of fresh flowers dominated the room. The sweet smells mixed and blended together into a dizzying cloud that filled her room. Every breath was painful in so much sweetness, pushing through her nostrils and into her lungs. Not even the rotten darkness could manage against the force of sweetness, shrinking and shrivelling in Augusta's lungs, finally disappearing as Augusta remained standing in the middle of her room, breathing in the sweet smells. Once her body had grown used to the smells, when the dizziness ebbed out, and she could think clearly again, she finally opened her eyes again. She knew the rot had been eradicated, the evil flower pulled up by the roots, never there to infect her again. She'd always have the scars, but she would never be infected with his poison again. The knowledge made a smile grow on her lips, the dark red lipstick that was so often twisted down in a scoff now sparkled in a smile. With much care Augusta placed her newest jar among the others. A black ribbon decorated it, it's lid securely tightened. The dark red contrasted starkly against her other jars, but simply twisting a few of the other jars to cover it was enough to pull the facade of perfect beauty and manners over it. Augusta let her fingertips linger over the lid, smiling in the knowledge the rot would be remained locked in there forever, never to hurt her again. She let the other jars remain open as she left her room. 

A lingering trace of rot trickled after her, dripping out of the jar, and would yet for quite some time, but Augusta knew that no one would look for it's source. It would be ignored until it died away on it's own. The gardeners would glance up towards her window and mumble that they needed to check that the mansion's composts weren't too close to the house. The maids would scrub the floors vigorously, struggling to get the smell out, but would never investigate it. Her mother would continue to sip her tea, nothing there to indicate that she even noticed the smell. Her father would turn his eyes away, choosing instead to grumble that Alexis was late for dinner. In time the smell would die out, with no one the wiser. Soon it would be drowned out by the sweet smells ingrained in Augusta's room, covering the air like the mist that covered the grounds every so often. No one would ever know of the heart in the jar, placed neatly among her collection, as meticulously labeled as Alexis' poisons. 

Augusta smiled as she walked down the hallway. The sweet scent of vanilla and flowers were already overpowering the rot. Soon it would be gone, erased from the world. Erased from her. Soon she would be free from him. Forever. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been itching to write something for Augusta ever since I found THIS masterpiece, https://archiveofourown.org/works/17646578, and I'm so happy I finally managed to finish something without just dissolving into "AUGUSTA DESERVED BETTEEEERRRRR". 
> 
> Thank you for reading! As always, kudos and comments are highly apprecieated.


End file.
